And you as well must die
by SigmaTheta
Summary: Daud keeps hold of Billie Lurk's hand long after her grip has gone slack and all the life has faded from her eyes. ('Execute Billie Lurk' Knife of Dunwall ending.)


He keeps hold of Billie Lurk's hand long after her grip has gone slack and all the life has faded from her eyes, though he can feel the perplexed stares from his people all the while. They are waiting for orders, shaken from the attack and looking for guidance, and Daud is giving them nothing. Perhaps they also believe he is weak now, to miss the signs of treachery from his closest subordinate, to kill her for it and then mourn like this. Perhaps the next betrayal is already brewing.

He has trouble working up any real concern for the possibility. The end is coming rapidly now, and he can feel death dogging his heels, breathing down his neck. He no longer cares if he falls by Corvo Attano's hand or that of one of his own assassins, so long as he can put his blade through Delilah's throat first.

But there is work to be done here.

He lays Billie's hand carefully over her heart and stands. "Let's get this place cleaned up," he says. "I want everything back in order before we leave."

The Whalers exchange silent looks, hesitating as they never have to follow their master's orders, but eventually there is a rustling rush of air and Void as they scatter and go to work. The surviving Overseers are made secure until they can be questioned, damaged walls are patched, toppled barricades built back up. A few take on the unenviable task of moving the bodies, piling the zealots in a haphazard heap and laying fallen assassins out more carefully some distance away.

Daud stays where he is, watching and thinking, considering their next move. He knows of the Brigmore Witches and where they make their lair, but getting there will be a problem in this city shut down by plague. There are only a few options open to him, none of them particularly appealing. He will have to decide what deals he is willing to make, which debts are worth collecting on at this point in time.

Eventually, one of the Whalers collecting corpses is brave enough to climb back onto the platform where Daud is standing. He shoots a wary look in Daud's direction, then slowly approaches Lurk's body.

" _Don't._ "

Daud means for it to be an ordinary command, calm and clipped, but from the way the man flinches and stumbles back, it clearly comes out harsher than intended. Speaking now feels like choking on gravel, and he supposes it must sound much the same. He waves the man away with a curt gesture and lowers himself to crouch beside the body once again.

The blade is the first thing he must deal with. It slides from her chest as easily as it had gone in, and Daud pulls a cloth from the pouch at his hip to wipe away as much of the drying blood as possible. When it is as clean as he can manage, he sets it carefully aside. He removes the belts next, a practical concern as much as anything else. As his second, Billie always carried some of the most valuable equipment, reinforced bolts and rare poisons that he can't afford to let burn with the bodies. He pulls the wristbow from its mounting for the same reason.

There he hesitates, knowing he is teetering on the edge of sentimentality. Ignoring the Whaler still standing nearby, he leans in to ease the dark red coat from Lurk's shoulders, gently pulling her arms from the sleeves and lifting up her limp body to drag it out from under her. It is blood-soaked and torn where the blade pierced the back; he folds it so only clean edges show and lays it with the rest of her things.

Before he can think too deeply about the motion, Daud reaches toward her face and draws his hand over her eyes, closing her half-open lids, and lets his fingers linger for a moment over her cheek on the way back. Then he turns abruptly to gather everything – coat, weapons, and the mask that had fallen nearby – and rises to his feet. "Put her body with the others," he orders quietly, without looking up.

The Whaler obeys, lifting and carrying her with surprising gentleness, and Daud is relieved that he doesn't have to specify she be placed with the other assassins and not carelessly heaped in with the Overseer corpses. Billie had largely kept herself apart from the others – his own fault for taking such an immediate interest in her talents and choosing to train her personally, grooming her to lead at his side – but they had always seemed to like her and accepted her command as easily as his own when he was absent. He is pleased, though he knows he shouldn't be, that he is not the only one conflicted over her death.

The sun works its way to the middle of the sky as the work continues, and Daud moves inside the old Commerce building. There is less activity here, though it is not empty of his people. Thomas and one of the newer recruits are murmuring to each other as they reorganize the scattered books and papers in Daud's office, and another novice aggressively yanks at Overseer curtains nearby. Daud moves past them, out into the hallways.

There is a low table here against the wall, holding only a few loose coins and a candelabra. Daud swipes the coins to the floor, ignoring the clatter that echoes in the quiet and draws the attention of his assassins, and pushes the candelabra to one side. In the empty space, he begins to arrange Billie's things. He lays her folded coat down and smooths it flat, then places her mask and, after a moment of weighing sentiment against their need for good weapons, her wristbow on top of it. Her blade, with blood still clinging stubbornly along its ridges and scratches, goes at the front of it all. He lights the candles with the lighter from his pocket and steps back to take in the completed scene.

Instinctively, it does not feel like enough, though he knows it is too grand a memorial by its very existence. It is another thing his men will question his judgement over, joining the whispers of witches and Rothwild's still beating heart. He can feel stares again as he bows his head and closes his eyes.

Silently, within the privacy of his own mind, Daud stumbles through a few half-remembered lines taught to him by his mother ages ago, words meant to be whispered over the dead. It is not so much a prayer as it is a plea, a wish for the spirit to be restful and slip through the Void to its end untroubled. Billie had always longed to gain the Outsider's notice, and he deeply hopes she does not catch it now in death.

When Daud looks up again, one of the staring assassins has drawn closer, his eyes now fixed on the small memorial. He shifts uneasily for a moment, then says, "You did right, sir. That witch had to die."

In an instant, Daud is filled with rage, an unexpected, incandescent fury that nearly has him snatching up the blade in front of him and jamming it through the unsuspecting Whaler's stomach. He clenches his hands into fists until his gloves creak from the strain, forcing the anger down. They all have reason to be upset with her, especially now when it is still so raw. Billie's actions brought death to their door in numbers they've rarely had to deal with before. But he does not need to hear it, not now, not from someone so far down the ranks that Daud can't even recall his name. "That _witch_ ," he says, carefully measured, "was twice the fighter you'll ever be."

The Whaler is not so foolish as to miss the ire in Daud's voice. He mumbles an apology and makes a hasty retreat, and the others return to their work, studiously pretending to have witnessed nothing out of the ordinary.

Daud ignores them all. With his eyes still on the low table, he pulls himself up straight and raises his voice just enough to be heard in the next room. "Thomas."

The man is at his side in seconds, dipping his head in acknowledgement. "Sir?"

Daud considers him for a moment. Thomas was always the best of them after Lurk, just as quick and clever but lacking quite her level of creativity and ambition. Perhaps that's for the best. "The old Brigmore Manor lies upriver beyond the quarantine line, correct?"

"Yes, sir. It's quite a ways past the blockade checkpoint."

He nods. "Then I need you to locate Lizzy Stride for me. Tell her I have a deal to make, and it will be worth her while to hear me out."

Thomas folds his hands behind his back, an obvious effort to still fidgeting fingers. "Lizzy Stride?" he asks uncertainly. It's the voice of someone who's been on the wrong end of a river krust acid bottle before and doesn't care to repeat the experience.

Daud has no patience for the worry. "Lizzy has better access to the Wrenhaven than most of the legitimate traders these days, and she's as good as her word if you can manage to pry a promise out of her. She's our best bet for getting to Delilah. If you're not up to the task…"

Thomas shakes his head sharply. "No, sir," he says. "I'll track her down and convince her to meet with us."

"Good. See that you do."

Thomas gives a quick salute and disappears, and Daud lets his attention drift back to the memorial. He wonders, for a moment, what Billie would have had to say about making deals with Lizzy Stride and her Dead Eels. She held most of the other gangs of Dunwall in general contempt and always had a colorful selection of insults on hand for their leaders. He'd always appreciated her commentary as much as her insight on a long job, but he'll have to finish this one without the benefit of either.

It's another kill he'll live to regret, but perhaps not for much longer now.

He places his hand over the hilt of Lurk's blade and lets out a quiet breath. "I owe you for this one, Delilah," he mutters darkly.

One last job to be done.


End file.
